


Faded Browns

by Talullah



Series: Nerwen Learns [1]
Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-25
Updated: 2014-08-25
Packaged: 2018-02-14 15:35:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,675
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2197167
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Talullah/pseuds/Talullah
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nothing escapes Nerwen's keen eye.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Faded Browns

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks go to slayer9649 for the betaing of this piece.
> 
> fanfic100 prompt 017. Brown.
> 
> [Disclaimer/Blanket Statement](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Talullah/profile)

**Valinor, Valian Years of the Trees 1400**

Nerwen sighed at the sight before her eyes. She had fought long and hard for the privilege of accompanying her father to a council of the Valar and she had finally achieved her goal. This was a very important day, not just one for ordinary decisions but the very day that the criminal Melkor was suing for pardon. She could see discontented faces in the crowd of Elves, Maiar and even among the Valar, although they tried to hide their dissention. Others where happy, apparently believing Melkor's words as true. Mandos and Manwë were stolid and imposing as it would seem fitting to their stations. All eyes converged to the central arena, to Melkor, all eyes but hers, that had strayed briefly through the crowd, and those others that would rather fix themselves in thread and cloth.

That was a disappointment. She pursed her lips and returned her eyes to Melkor, who still spoke. He sounded contrite and humble - too contrite and too humble. Nerwen was trying to be optimistic but the affectionate title of Lady of Doom that Artanáro had given her was not in vain.

Yet, it was funny that he would associate doom to her person, as from all the court of Valar and Valier, those that revelled in gloom were her least favourites. She realised they would certainly have much to teach her if she should ever reach the grace of affording their company, but their sombreness was everything but appealing to her.

Mandos was the one she respected the most. Irmo had certainly been kind to her on a few nights, but he seemed to have little interest in real affairs. Nerwen could only imagine what wonders would she do if she could have Irmo's powers, if only for one night. Nienna was another sad waste, at first sight, but against her will, Nerwen had to admit that her annoying and nearly constant weeping served its purposes of relieving the weaker souls. All in all, within the family, they were powerful and useful though they showed little ambition. Maybe it was better that way - Valinor had already an all too ambitious character.

The weak point was her. Vairë. Mandos could have done better, Nerwen thought, as her eyes and her mind strayed again from Melkor and his mellifluous speech. She sat behind Nienna, perhaps trying to go unnoticed. She wore black like her husband and in laws, but on her it looked sloven, rather worn. It was, of course, from the loose fibers from the canvas. She was doing her embroidery right there where the judging of a giant took place, and, for that, Nerwen could not forgive her. Being insignificant and dull was one thing, but being so obsessed with her stupid embroidery at a time like that was too much even for a dimwit sample of a Valier such as Vairë. Could she possibly ignore how others would give their right arm for a tenth of her power?

Nerwen squinted and resolutely turned to Melkor. She would not waste another thought on Vairë. It was not worth it. However, when the council was over and everybody was rising from their places and searching for friends to discuss the events, she found herself alone, as her father immersed himself in conversation with her uncle and a friend. Clearly they thought she should not be part of it. She was annoyed but did not dare to challenge the unspoken order from her father's eyes, lest her first council be her last.

She wandered through the crowd, once again feeling a profound sense of displeasure at the results of her mental accounting: the Valier almost equalled the Valar in number but few of them had spoken. The Maiar kept similar proportions. But the elves... the elves seemed to think that males ruled the world. And there she was, still in her corner, that ninny that would not use the immense power Ilúvatar had gifted her, when so many other females were fighting with insignificant weapons to carve their own destiny.

Nerwen felt repulsion. She felt like approaching the Valier and shaking her out of her stupid little hobby. She thought best of it, of course. It was unthinkable. Still, she decided that she would see what the other stitched so obsessively. She had not yet the nerve to introduce herself and make tea room conversation, nor did she have any interest in it, although her mother had repeatedly told her of its supposed uses and advantages. Limited by her own prejudice, Nerwen circled slowly, until she was a few feet behind Vairë. At first sight, the tapestry she held was a blur of brown. It would figure - Vairë was the perfect image of the lack of vitality, so her tapestries would reflect that. Still she gave the tapestry a second look. The browns seemed to swirl slightly and then she could see nuances, patches of greenish-brown, spots of golden-brown, a duck-egg blot in a corner catching her eye, rust here and there. Soon she had spotted the whole palette, though all dusty and faded. It seemed odd that one would go through such trouble to produce a work that looked old and worn from its first day.

Nerwen was now more interested, although she hated embroidery as much as she had ever did. She stepped closer and kept looking over Vairë's shoulder. She realized that the whole tapestry was a muddle of tiny figures. When she tried to focus on one and identify it, it seemed to move and blur into something else. She kept trying for a while, then she looked out to her father, but he was still immersed in conversation. There was nothing for her to do of yet and she found her eyes dropping again to the work below. She raised her eyes to the courtyard in shock. Yes, that was her father and uncle, the unmistakable golden manes shining under the sun and for the briefest of moments in Vairë's work, only to be dusty as all the rest. Vairë kept stitching and stitching and Nerwen now followed eagerly the path of the needle. She still could not understand all, but there were spots... she could almost See. She could See. There was a sea of grey after a sea of blood, ice, lots of ice, and many years. A silver haired elf held her, she was there in the tapestry, but before she could make anything of it, Vairë pulled the thread brusquely and it was all gone.

"Enough," she said, "You have seen enough, more than enough."

Nerwen jumped back.

Vairë's voice was lacking anger, it was almost warm, not at all the feeble whine she had expected from one she thought dull in excess.

She should apologise for her indiscretion, but she was not cut that way. "It was not enough, not by far. If you have such power in you, why-"

"It was not asked of me. By the One. Retelling not Foretelling is what I am to do. This was a mere slip to tell a thing or two to someone who thinks she knows enough." Vairë had been too firm for Nerwen's comfort and she lacked words, a very rare occasion.

She held her chin high and opened her mouth. "Artanis," she heard called. She looked over to where the voice came from. Her father awaited. She would probably hear a sermon over disturbing a Valier. She faced Vairë. "Do I not know enough? Do you, per chance, think I could learn from you?"

Vairë almost smiled. Or at least her lips twitched a fraction of a smile. "Do you think you could not?"

"Perhaps I could..."

Vairë looked away and held her silence. Nerwen felt she had handled this poorly. Vairë certainly had not earned her respect over a few needle tricks but she still was a Valier, the wife of one of the most powerful Valar. And maybe, despite her insignificance, she did have something to teach and could put her on the right track to learn from others. She was close to Varda, none the less...

Vairë sighed and turned to her. "Your thoughts are too loud, child. I can teach you so much more than you think. There is only one thing that I cannot teach and that you will learn with time."

Nerwen suppressed the urge to reply sharply. "Why do I suspect that you mean humility?"

Vairë emitted a low sound that in another could have been perceived as a chuckle. "That too," was her enigmatic answer.

Nerwen was losing ground: she had to go to her father, she had to come to an agreement with Vairë and she had to settle for less than she wanted. For now.

"Will you do it then?" she asked bluntly, as she had been taught not to be.

Vairë scratched on a few stitches with her fingernail. "Why should I? My pride is not hurt by your conceptions of me..." she said as she stuffed her tapestry in her bag with sure, slow motions.

To Nerwen it seemed to take but a fraction of a second and she still ignored which would be the best reply. "How about to take off your mind from the embroidery now and then?" she proposed feeling utterly stupid.

This time Nerwen was certain it was a chuckle she heard.

"Perhaps we can have a test lesson. Be at my house tomorrow in the afternoon and we will talk. Now go to your father."

No sooner than Vairë had left, Nerwen's father was beside her, holding her arm. "What were you talking about?" he asked.

Nerwen's hesitation was brief. "Nothing. Embroidery, if you will believe it."

Arafinwë laughed. "I find it hard to do so... Come, child."

Nerwen followed her father, smiling a secret smile. She had her doubts about the quality of the bargain she had made, but riches of possibilities seemed to blossom before her eyes. She could hardly wait.

 

_Finis  
December 2005_


End file.
